The Nightingale
by Nommy and the Four Food Groups
Summary: Denmark is desperate to impress Norway. Finland thinks that he can help him out. One shot AU, one-sided Denmark/Norway, inspired by a certain fairy tale.


_AN;;_

_I should be working on my other fanfiction, but this idea bit and wouldn't go away. Enjoy I guess. Matthias = Denmark and Audun = Norway._

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It was just another lazy morning in the town of Kingston – the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. An occasional shopkeeper would wander into their shop and turn on the lights inside, but the morning was still otherwise, like a placid lake, waiting to be shaken to life.

The flower merchant wandered into his garden, his rough hands gently stroking the leaves. The giant gave a sigh that shook through the bushes, and then his hand went limp. He wasn't a man of many words, so his despairs were never voiced - but any one looking at him would recognize his strife. All throughout the garden, roses of delicate white and vibrant yellow bloomed, yet no red roses were in sight. He had sold every last one of them the day before – everyone wanted to get them for the annual ball was tonight.

The man figured that he wouldn't get any business today. Ah well, might as well water his plants, no?

Carefully, the man maneuvered his hulking figure to the back wall, where he kept his watering can. He pawed at it for a minute before he realized that it wasn't there. Had he misplaced it? Had it been stolen? He began to search the area frantically.

He didn't hear the soft footsteps behind him. "M-mr. Oxensternia? Looking for this?"

The man whirled around, anger glinting in his eyes, but his eyes softened when he saw who had addressed him. "Mm," the man gave in response, gazing at the younger man with fondness. It was none other than little Tino, a poor boy who did odd jobs to help collect money for a shop he wanted to open up. The flower-seller had questioned about it many times, but Tino had been vague. Apparently, it was a shop for music, but how did one _buy_ music? It really wasn't practical, but it seemed to be what Tino was set on doing.

If it had been any other person, he would have asked for more information on the shop, but he didn't need to. Whatever Tino did about selling music, Berwald knew that it would be great – this kid could sing like an angel.

Tino held out the watering can to Berwald, smiling when the taller man took it back. "I've already watered everything, I'll just need to do it again in a few hours, okay?" He bounced on his heels expectantly.

Berwald offered a small smile, then fished in his pocket. In moments, Tino had grown about one dollar richer.

The singer smiled, pocketed the money, then ran back and picked up the hedge clippers. Offhandedly, Tino told Berwald to take it easy, that he'd be the gardener for today. With a stiff nod, Berwald wandered back into his house, at a loss for what to do.

As Tino was cutting the excess branches off of the bushes, he couldn't help but overhear the laments of someone beyond the walls of the garden. He cautiously set the clippers down, then scrambled up the stone wall, looking out thoughtfully.

The complaining man was none other than Matthias, the blacksmith's apprentice. Tino hoisted himself up onto the wall, hid in the overhanging tree branches, and listened in to his worries.

"Aw, man! The ball's _tonight_ and I _still_ don't have anything that'll convince Audun to go with me! I mean, I was _supposed_ to get a red rose, but no! Apparently, not _one _is growing! Can you imagine that? Not _one!_"

Tino frowned. Audun was a noble, spoiled, and well taken care of - probably not interested in a lowly, poor apprentice. Still, Matthias persevered - but _why?_ The boy chewed on his lip, trying to sort out Matthias' thought process. Apparently, if one was to give another person a red rose, it was like asking them to go with them. Tino kept watching, anxious to see if Matthias had any solution.

Matthias had resorted to pulling on his own hair in frustration. "Gah! There's nothing that I want more than _him!_ He's completely perfect, but I can't express how I feel without a proper gift, now can I?" He stopped briefly, but just to collapse on the floor. Tino had to lean forward and strain his ears to continue listening – it was hard to decipher sobs. "I'd do anything! Absolutely anything! But it doesn't matter – Audun'll go off with some airheaded pansy and that'll be the end of it. I'll forever wallow through my existence alone…."

And then he didn't say anything anymore, too busy sobbing on the floor.

Tino felt a pang of remorse – this poor man was experiencing true love, but he couldn't do anything about it! Tino knew that he was capable of helping, so he jumped down from the wall and began to scour the garden.

The more he searched, the more he knew that it was hopeless. There were no red roses in sight, none whatsoever. The singer frowned, but walked back into the flower shop, eying Berwald at his desk. "Mr. Oxensternia, Matthias really needs a red rose!" He blurted, hoping for a response like 'sure, there's one right here, let me get it for you.'

"Th't so?"

…Or not. Tino sighed, but nodded. "That _is _so! You have to have one more, just one more!" Tino fretted, his eyes shining with hope.

Berwald gave a slight shake of his head, then went back to reading a book about the finer points of curtain knitting.

Tino huffed and puffed out his cheeks, but then went and meandered around the shop, thumbing though Berwald's collection of books. A title caught his eye, The Red Rose, so he took it out and began to skim it, humming a little tune about regrowth.

Berwald raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Even casually, Tino's voice was something to marvel at.

Tino thumbed through the book, and was surprised to see "How to make a Red Rose" as a title. Tino looked puzzled, but read on. Slowly, his confusion turned to horror. Sure it would be for true love, but did true love have to be so… _grotesque?_ Tino shut the book, breathing heavily, yet he knew what he had to do. He swallowed several times to dislodge the lump in his throat and to force down the bile in the back of his mouth, and then began to gather the materials.

All he had to do now was wait until sunset.

Tino went by the red rosebush that bore no roses, the moon slowly rising above him. He calmed his nerves by making figure eights with his hands, then set down his materials.

_In order to create a rose, one must have the voice of a nightingale._

Briefly, Tino warmed up his voice, going up and down octaves effortlessly. His nervousness forced a prominent tremulato to be heard, but it was normal otherwise. He swallowed often, and slowly came to the realization that he _could not do this_. He was too nervous, too scared, too… hopeless.

Tino thought back to the morning, when he'd overheard Matthias' predicament. He had seemed nervous, scared, and hopeless as well.

Summoning his bravery, Tino pushed aside all doubt. This was a very small price to pay for Matthias' happiness, for_ true love_.

Without hesitation, Tino recalled the instructions and made sure that this was possible.

_You will need a rose bush, a knife, a full moon, and that beautiful singing voice._

The rose bush was right there, the knife was by his knee, the moon was certainly full, and he was all warmed up.

_Tie the handle of the knife to a vine on the rose bush. Do not sing yet._

The singer did as the book had instructed, being wary of the thorns on the bush. Once it was securely tied, he prepared himself for the next step.

_Press the very tip of the knife into your chest, just enough to make it bleed. Don't plunge it any further yet, and once the knife touches your skin, you must start singing._

Tino placed the tip of the knife to his chest and began to sing.

_Sing about anything, but only sing about what comes to mind first. Don't plan what you will sing._

Tino sang of blacksmiths, of forges and nobility, of crafting the most beautiful rose that ever existed, of true love. He sang of the moon, of owls, of the great golden sun and its inevitable cycle. He felt sticky blood drip down his knife, over his hand, and onto the vine. When he looked, a steady pool of it was beginning to form in one place. Encouraged, Tino began to sing a little louder.

Matthias, who was still weeping, still curled up on the floor, heard the song very clearly. He scoffed. "Pah, those stupid artsy types can sing about love all they want, but they'll never understand it," he sat up, sniffling. He wiped his eyes a few times, then reclined. "Brutes, all of them. Why would they sing about something that they can't understand?"

In the meantime, Tino was following the instructions the book had given him diligently.

_Do not be hasty. You have to keep singing throughout the night in order for this to work. Keep plunging the knife slightly deeper into your chest at steady intervals._

Tino had his eyes squeezed shut in pain, but allotted himself a slight peek at the bush in front of him.

Lo and behold, a rose was starting to bloom. It was pale in colour and naught but a bud, but the book had been right. Tino could have laughed, but had to keep singing. He began another verse about thousands of red roses in a field, about how one man studied them all and picked the very best one for his true love.

_The rose should be full by the time dawn is about to break. The knife should also be very deep in your chest by this time_.

Tino checked. The rose was truly the most beautiful thing that he'd ever seen, its fullness and delicate petals bloomed outwards gracefully.

By now, Tino's voice was growing hoarse and he couldn't keep it up for much longer. He raised an eye to the horizon, searching for…

…There! A tiny bit of sunlight peeked over the horizon, as if afraid for what its presence would bring.

Tino looked at it one last time, then plunged the rest of the knife into his chest -his waning voice was cut off instantly.

The blood from his heart trickled down and hit the pure white petals, staining them the most vibrant of reds. The rose seemed to open just a little bit more, then hung there on the vine, absorbing the rays of the rising sun.

* * *

"C'mon, man, you have to have _one_ red rose! I'm _desperate!_"

Berwald glanced up from his knitting book and sighed. "I d'n't."

Matthias stomped his foot. "Did you check?"

With a labour-infested sigh, Berwald hoisted himself up from his chair and made his way outside. He was ready to walk back in, but something red caught his eye.

On his rose bush, the single most beautiful rose hung from the branch, just waiting to be picked. But that's not what Berwald had seen first.

His heart nearly stopped. There was Tino, little Tino who dreamed of ludicrous things like music shops, the same Tino that would offer to do anything for a bit of change, the boy that would sit at his dinner table and share crazy stories that just had to be made up…

…There he was, splayed in an unnatural position, a knife lodged deep into his chest.

No… not _a_ knife… _his_ knife. Berwald felt sick.

The man gently walked to the body, pulling out the knife as he did so. He put it to the side, not wanting to look at it.

He knows exactly what Tino did and why he did it – the rose was plenty proof that Tino had done all of this for Matthias' sake, so he could have one stupid rose.

Berwald grit his teeth and stroked Tino's hair, noting that a pleasant smile was on his otherwise dead face.

Well… he couldn't do anything about it now. He picked up Tino (no… the body….) and placed him under some shady trees for the time being. He needed to give Matthias the rose that Tino had died to make for him.

He snipped it off the bush, and then walked backed to his shop, not able to keep the scowl off his face. Grudgingly, he gave the flower to Matthias, who grinned widely.

"See? All you had to do was check! Thanks, man!" He dropped some money on the counter, then ran out, whooping and hollering.

Matthias tore through the street like a madman, only stopping when he saw Audun standing idly by, gazing off into the distance.

"Hey, Audun!"

The boy turned around, his purple eyes lowered into a glare. "What do you want." A statement, not a question.

Matthias grinned his lopsided grin, did a twirl, and presented the rose to his crush. "For you, my love. Will you go to the ball with me?"

Audun's expression slowly morphed into a face of disgust. "You're joking, right? Why would I descend to a pauper's level? In any case, flowers are vile little things, worthless. You can find them absolutely anywhere." As if to illustrate his point, the noble swatted the rose right out of Matthias' hand, some of its crimson petals falling off in the process. "Next time, try asking me with something of worth, scum."

With that, Audun turned on his heel and walked away, waving to his servants to ready his chariot.

Matthias was holding back tears, his cheeks red with embarrassment and rage. "Oh yeah?" He screamed after him, tears now falling down his face. He stomped over to where the rose had fallen and grounded it into the pavement, leaving nothing but the red dye behind. "Love is stupid, anyway. I'd rather stick to _forging!_"

With his point vividly made, the apprentice stomped back to the blacksmith's shop, not looking back once.


End file.
